Artificial Wings
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
Summary: UPDATE: 8/7 | Alternate Universe: What if the Jedi refused to train Anakin? Padme has taken it upon herself to find a place in the universe for the young boy.
1. Abandon

Thanks for stopping off in my little thread. It's so nice of you to bother reading it! This is a new chapter fic-- 

*dodges the tomatoes* I know, I know! @_@;;;; I still have "Faces" and "Our Lady" and "From Whever" and "By the Hands of Fate", but I... just... can't... help... myself. ^____^;;; I am a completey innocent party here-- it's my muse's fault. 

Let's see, now... As stated in the title, this is a TPM AU, playing with the idea that the Council migh have still refused to train Anakin even after Qui Gon's death. I do so love toying with Ani/Ami and our favorite alter ego Sith Lord friend. 

That said, I hope you enjoy, and I thank you for putting up with my babble. 

-Meredith 

DISCLAIMER: I am a hopeless romantic, but not a very nice one. You have been warned. 

to the tune of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game": 

__

"Please give me some feed-back, 

that is what I desire, 

I'll love you forever if only you'd say, 

good or bad, yes or no, yay or nay. 

Yes, I really really like feedback, 

and I am not ashamed, 

cause it's F-E-E-D and back, 

yes, that's he name of the game." 

=========================== 

Artificial Wings 1/? 

by Meredith Bronwen Mallory 

mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com 

http://www.demando.net/ 

=========================== 

The temple bells sang death in their full metallic voices for the seventh time that day. Padme sat watching through the high window as row upon row of coffins were carried down the street, loved ones throwing flowers before them or following after with soft prayers. The bells would ring twice more; the choir of two hundred virgins would raise their voices to chant the Last Passage service, and fresh rows of death-boxes would be taken towards the battle-scorched hills. We could have lost more, the young Queen told herself, we could have lost so many that we could not have known where to begin counting. Numbers can only extend so far. There was a weight on her heart, a type of glass framework growing around it. Though she knew rationally that her choices had been limited, and that she had done all that she could, her guilt still lapped like a river of blood along the backs of her knees. 

"Your Majesty," this from Yane, who always spoke words into a feathery murmur. Padme turned from the window swiftly, feeling her twilight and polished stone gown settle about her feet. She would play no political games; would not make her guests wait for her to acknowledge their presence. No, she wanted to look these men in the eye. he heavy throne room doors opened at the end of the long hall, and Padme watched the guards usher in her visitors. 

"I am honored that you have taken time to speak with me before leaving for Coruscant," she began, moving her lips in the strange patterns her make-up forced. Bowing just slightly, she locked gazes with first Mace Windu, then Kai Adi Mundi, and at last Yoda. The Jedi Master hid much in his slim form-- even Padme could sense that, but she merely smiled. These were not her enemies, merely those she was attempting to reason with. 

"It is our privilege to have audience with your, Your Majesty," Mace Windu bowed deeply, and was the last one to take his seat. Feeling the rounded edges of the throne embrace her, Padme rested her hands in her lap, feeling the fluter of her voice in her throat, waiting. 

"It has been brought to my attention," she said with purpose, "that you do not intend to take young Anakin Skywalker with you when you return to the capital." A strange type of still motion seemed to pass between the Jedi, like currents of water under a thick layer of ice. Their equivalent of a shared look, she supposed. 

"We do not," Kai Adi Mundi answered. 

"Even if it was Master Jinn's dying wish?" 

"Even so." 

The bells stopped ringing, thrusting Padme's voice into an eerie quiet, "I would like to know why." 

"He is..." Master Windu paused, "too old to be trained." 

"Master Jinn seemed to disagree with that analysis." 

"On the Council, Master Jinn is not," Yoda pointed out. 

"Master Yoda," Padme lifted her hand, holding up a single, delicate finger to indicate the sky, "a migrant worker in this city would not be on our council, but I would still take his word that the sky is blue." 

Windu took a breath, "It is true the boy has great power, however..." 

"Please, don't say 'however'-- it erases everything you said before hand." For a moment, she dropped her gaze to the mass of flimsi-plast reports on her desk, selecting a single sheet in the standard medical blue. "I have a print out of Anakin's blood analysis. Your own Knight Kenobi carried it out on Master Jinn's orders. It says here that Anakin has an incredibly high midichlorian count, the highest in at least the last three centuries." Here, her eyes rested on Yoda, trying to fathom the writing behind his amphibian eyes. "Higher than yours, Master Yoda. Possibly the highest ever recorded in your order." 

"That fact," Mundi said as he breathed in, "was never in dispute." 

"I see." Padme had to school her face carefully so as not to slip into an expression of mock enlightenment. "Let me follow this. Anakin Skywalker has an unparalleled Jedi potential. He has demonstrated this not only by participating in Pod Racing-- an activity suicidal for most humans due to our slow reflexes-- but also in the recent battle with the Trade Federation. He is obviously a skilled pilot, and eager to learn the Jedi way." Now Padme nodded, mouth open in a little 'o' as she touched the obsidians clustered around her neck, "It makes perfect sense that you wouldn't want him trained. How silly of me." 

"Your feelings for the boy--" 

"Are of no consequence, Master Windu. I would like to take this moment to remind you that under current Republic laws, it is illegal for any Jedi to reveal things he has 'sensed' in other without express permission or police warrant." 

"Of consequence, your feelings *are*," Yoda said with effort, "Wish to protect him, you do. Care for him immensely, you do." Her lungs drew air into their embrace, and Padme felt the juppor snippet press against her abdomen where it was carefully tied in her corset. 

"Master Yoda," her voice was all the reproach needed. She paused a moment, "I see no reason why the boy should not be trained." Then, a little defiantly, "I do care for him. Please do not suggest that you are completely objective in this." 

"Fear," Yoda intoned, "the boy has much fear." 

"I'd be a little worried about him if he feared nothing." 

Windu's dark eyes narrowed, "Fear is of the Dark Side, Your Highness." 

"All children fear. Surely your Padawans are not without fright?" 

"They are not." 

"Then that is what training is for." 

"Your highness," Mundi put forward, "his fear is deep rooted. Fear leads to anger, in turn..." 

"I have read your philosophies, Master Mundi. My point is, how can you expect him to have prefect control when he hasn't had any training?" 

"Control, he desires," said the small Master, "control over his world. Loss, he fears. Gone, his mother is, so other things he fears leaving as well." Yoda paused, tilting his head just slightly, as if realizing something. "Losing you, he fears." 

"Why won't you train him?" Padme fought her way past that new thought, shaking her head, "It's obvious he wants structure, and he wants to learn. Isn't that enough for you?" Her lips did not move, but her eyes were wide and the world behind her dusky pupils was there for them to see. 

"A danger, he is," Yoda said with finality, "Clouded his future, but always with shadows. Harm he will bring to many, if he is trained. If love him you do, then see this you would." 

A powerful voice spread its wings and perfume into the room, and it was a moment before Padme realized it was her own. 

"I revoke my hospitality," the words fell on the marble floor with purpose, "I remove my permission. I will not have you here." There was a rustling among the handmaids, like flowers before a storm. The three Jedi stood as one, bowing in a motion Padme herself did not return. 

"May the Force be with you," Master Windu's voice was a slow, tigerish dropping of words. 

Padme smiled mirthlessly, "May the Force sent charity into your order; compassion for those in need, and a sight to overcome your blindness." They turned then, three brown shadows moving further away, until they were almost insignificant. At the door, the guards moved to let them pass, but Yoda paused to look at her once more. 

"Pray, I do," he said, "that you see why we have chosen this." 

The chill in her liquid opal eyes was her only response. 

"You may leave me, my friends," Padme said, smiling wearily at her green-robed handmaids. She pressed two fingers to her temples, massaging. "Have I ever told you how thankful for you I am?" 

"Quite often, Your Majesty," the smile was in Sabe's voice, "But I believe we are more thankful for you." 

"Pleasant dreams, Majesty," Rabe said as she passed, hands hidden in her long veil. 

"Sleep well," said Yane, as she too moved towards the door. Sache walked closely with the other girl, giving her murmured wishes of a bright morning. 

"Would you like me to fetch Anakin for you, Majesty?" Sabe inquired, kneeling at Padme's side so that the Queen could see past the haze of her veil. 

"Yes, Sabe," Padme smiled; a movement of the lips that was tired and a little lost, "That would be very good of you." There was a shifting of satin, and the handmaid was gone. 

The Queen sat back, closing her eyes as the bells renewed their horrible song. The eighth mass funeral. She could imagine them swinging, their large ornamental shells flashing in the fading sunlight. In her minds eye, she saw shadows too, female figures moving closely with the bells, murmuring long and low. 

"Your Highness?" the high ceilings of the throne room carried the small voice, and when Padme opened her eyes, it seemed she was wholly herself-- not the halfling she became under her crown. 

"Hello, Ani," she felt her face take on a now familiar expression; not quite happiness, a liquid perhaps-content that seemed to be a symptom of Anakin's presence. "Come here," she said, making a movement with her hands. The sunset came through the graceful windows, throwing Anakin's shadow wide and long behind him. He came around her desk and stood before the throne, watching her with vivid, cut-glass blue eyes. She heard him breathing softly for a minute, before he opened his mouth just a little. 

"You make a good Queen," he said after a moment. 

"Oh, Ani," she said, giving him a look that was its own reward. Resting her hands on the smooth metallic arm rests, she felt the heaviness of her bones in her body. "I tried to reason with the Council. They..." 

"They won't have me," Anakin finished. Oddly, his voice seemed shelled-out, rather than hurt. "Obiwan told me while I was helping him pack. He taught me a few things. He said he owned it to Master Qui Gon." 

"That was nice of him," Padme managed absently. Anakin looked at the floor, while the ringing of the bells seemed to huddle around them both. 

"Ani, I..." her hands moved towards him, palms up, and she found suddenly that he was in her arms and that she had meant for him to come into them. 

"What will happen to me now?" he asked, face buried in her hair. She could feel his breath brush her neck, contrasting with the cold stones resting there. 

"I don't know," she drew him up into the chair, almost into her lap, but there was only five years and growth spurt between them, and it seemed as though they were both children. "I won't let anything happen to you, Ani. There must have been some reason for us to meet-- it just wasn't the one we originally thought. I won't abandon you." 

"Thank you," he was crying, the way boys do, trying to keep it in and making it worse. With her free hand, she stroked his sandy-tarnish hair, listening to herself list all sorts of nebulous possibilities. 

"There's more you can do than be a Jedi." 

"I know." 

"You're good with your hands, with machines, with speeders and star charts," she bit her lips, feeling that he knew as she did that the far future was not a concern. 

The moment held them in a loose bubble, trembling on the edge of collapse. "I'll figure out something." She felt his small arms tighten around her and settled back, turning the throne towards the window and its view of the sun and the moon exchanging territory. Bellow in the street, the lines of coffins moved like ashes. Gradually, Padme felt Anakin's hold loosen and his breathing settling into his own, odd rhythm. He slept with his cheek to her heart, and in his face she could find no darkness, and felt no fear. 

'Harm, he will bring many...' 

Such words to put to a child so young; such judgment to pass. The Force seemed tangible around her now, and she couldn't imagine how any one could claim to wield it. It wielded you. She pressed her lips against Anakin's forehead, feeling something that was no love as most people held it. The emotion was too large, too binding to be simple, romantic love with only one dimension. 

"Yes, Master Yoda, I will pray," she whispered, holding the little boy in her arms, "I shall pray that the hearts of the self-righteous will be broken." 

++++++++++++++++++

Anakin lay with his eyes closed, trying to convince himself that he would hear his mother calling soon. She would come and ease the rough, sack-cloth blanket away from his hands, and the light coming through the crack in the ceiling would put both suns in her eyes. It was no use, and his teeth set against one another in pain; he was laying in a soft bed, not the small pit, the fabric he clutched in his hands was a smooth, rich brown. Outside, he could hear the strange thing called rain throwing itself against the palace in an attempt to get inside. He drew the covers up over himself, intimidated by the high ceilings and ornamental cravings that climbed the walls. If he looked closely, the little flower reliefs began to look like eyes, a thousand of them, narrowed in suspicion. He could not even begin to explain himself to them. 

Turning his face into the pillow, he wrapped his arms around it and held on, but it wasn't long or soft or right enough for him to pretend it was a body. Laying still for a moment, he dreamt that he walked through the desert until the sand faded into the grass of a Nubian field, everywhere there were flowers as red and rich and sweet as blood-- they whispered as he waded through them. Padme way amongst them; they were in her long dark waves of hair, the blossoms were over her eyes, and when he brushed them aside she stared up without seeing at all. She was dead, and it was beautiful, the way a nuclear sunset and the unraveling of a planet in the hands of a black hole are beautiful. 

The world reemerged in an instant as he opened his eyes and thrust his body out bed, as it to escape the embrace of the idea. It seemed to him that it had only been a moment, but also much, much longer than that. His eyes flickered to the large, impassive clock set into the wall, but the symbols carved into its face gave him no help-- everything here was in traditional Nubian. Tasting the air as he took in a breath, Anakin felt his stomach turn with rage; and though his eyes were open Padme's lifeless body blocked his view of the world. Finding the bed, he ran fingers over the embroidered lines, feeling their fruitless search for destination. Before he heard the key invade the lock on his door, he was already diving under the covers; he sensed the person outside like a bright, perfect explosion. There came the sound of bare feet on the cool marble floor, and then the stirring of dishes like anxious talk he used to hear in Mos Espa. A sudden smile washed away his fear as he held onto the covers, keeping his body concealed. Thin, cool fingers were tugging at his and with one sudden movement he burst up let the comforter fall away. 

"Boo," he said seriously, looking into Padme's strange, sunrise-moonrise face. 

"Boo, yourself," she said through her smile. "How did you sleep?" 

"Well," he lied. Dimly, he remembered Padme's arms cradling him, and then her hand on his back as she steered him towards the small bathroom, placing a deep blue bundle in his hands. Shame stung his ribs just below his heart; not at being held, but being sent away. Suddenly shy, he picked at his blue sleeping robe, folding and unfolding the sleeves that extended far beyond his fingertips. 

"I brought you breakfast," Padme said, her voice almost a sing-song. Looking up, Anakin caught a flash of her excitement under the kind set of her lips, saw the slightly slow movement of her will through her body, and knew she had not slept much, if at all. 

"Thank you," he said earnestly. "What time is it?" 

Padme glanced absently to the clock, "Three bells before most sane people are up." She took a tray from the nightstand and set it between them on the bed, her hands moving amongst the china like flesh butterflies. Her eyes were on him briefly, before turning their attention to her task. 

"You have a secret," he said, accepting a small plate of rice. Her lips parted momentarily, before her smile faded and she said something else: 

"I don't think I'll ever forgive the Jedi for leaving you. Qui-Gon freed you, and they simply abandoned you..." her face was filled with determination Anakin recalled from tales of goddesses and warrior queens-- the mother's of the universe. He loved her so that he had no frame of reference for the type of love, so that sister was not honor enough and the other ties between adults seemed to dirty her. She was not his mother, but in that moment he felt draped in her affection, and the devotion that had risen when she'd first come into the junk shop seemed to pierce his insides permanently. It was pain, but he wouldn't realize that for a long while. 

"You said you wouldn't abandon me," his voice was soft as he laid his hand a top hers, "I believe you." 

Now her smile was real, "I've figured everything out." Briefly, she raised her cup to her lips, before allowing words to pass them again. He leaned forward to catch them, and for the first time saw that her robe was as deep and red as the flowers in the field. "On Naboo," Padme continued, "You're considered an adult at fourteen-- that's why I'm queen. In fact," she blushed, "My birthday is in the rainy season, so I almost wasn't able to run for the elections last year." 

"But you won," he pointed out proudly. 

"By a narrow margin," Padme winked, "It was a very close thing between myself and Lady Shunshin-- she was sixteen-- I don't think I really breathed all election night. I'm not the youngest queen, but I was still afraid my age would play into t too much." 

Stretching her arms, her mouth formed a perfect 'o', and Anakin moved a little on the bed, motioning for her to rest her back against the thick pillows. "If you stay here, you'll be an adult in five years. Then you'll be able to pursue what you like." 

"Only five years," he said breathlessly, "But what happens until then?" 

"I'll adopt you," the words seemed to hover before him, and Padme held her lips apart just a little, as if she wasn't ready to detach what she'd said from inside herself. "You'll be my ward-- I'll set aside a trust fund for you, that way you'll have something to your name when you come of age." 

"You'll take care of me?" he hated the way he sounded when he said it; so helpless. 

"I may be of age," Padme's eyes were far away, "But I don't think it's fair of me to have so much control over your destiny. I don't want to do any damage, so... if you like this idea," she studied his face, "I'll send you to live with my family. They'll take care of you." 

"Your family?" Strange, but he had not even considered Padme capable of human origin; it seemed more as though she'd risen from the sands of his home, formed when the moon touched the dunes and chilled it to glass. 

Padme nodded, lips closed around a slice of blue fruit, "My mother and her children, then her sisters and their children, so on-- about three generations, I think. Our farm is in the mountains over on the northern continent. There will be plenty of children your age to play with, and my sister is due to give birth soon..." Her face showed the shadow of her frustration; it seemed as though this idea should be warm like the sun on your back when the wind is a little chill, but it refused to be so, "They'll love you. I called my mother last night to ask her about it," Padme seemed somehow much younger, saying that, "all you need to do is say whether you'd like to or not. You can go to school up there, too." It was under her voice that he had given her life back, and now she wanted to do the same; and beneath her generosity was a fear somehow matched his own. He came to kneel before her on the bed, seeing that her eyes weren't really brown but a gold and red and liquid silver. 

"I'm scared," he almost didn't hear himself say it. 

Her hands encased his own, "I am too. I don't know why." Her face was far-away, dipping behind the mask of Amidala for a moment. "I suppose we're always afraid of the unknown." And, because they both knew she was lying, "It's not just that." 

Fiercely, "I won't let anything bad happen to you, Padme." 

"I'm the one trying the take care of you!" They were both crying without any tears, without anything to show on their faces. 

"I would like to be your ward," he said at last, his fingers resting over the flow of blood in her wrists. He matched his breathing to it, and felt calm. 

Silence rested like fog between them; Anakin could see her and yet he couldn't. Almost in tandem, they reached for the dishes, setting them on the nightstand, each waiting for the other to signal some change. Two shadows, looking for some surface to lend them reality. Later, Anakin would not remember how it started; only they stared until they had to pounce. He reached for her sides, allowing her to merge for the first and last time with his memories of home; Padme's laughter was like tiny clear beads spilling from a cup. 

"Hey!" she cried, trapping his arms in her own, "You'll have to listen to me now, you know..." They grabbed for the pillows, blocking each other. Padme rolled to the foot of the bed in a rustling of red wings and he pursued her, cushion raised high, before he tripped on his over-sized robe and fell face down beside her. They laughed, trying so desperately to be children, until at last a few sobs broke free, and they lay together but not touching while rain seemed to come in and wash them both away. 

He used her words, because he had none of his own; "My caring for you will remain." 

====== 

When the sun came and touched the Nubian sky an impossible blue, Anakin walked between Yane and Sabe towards the throne of Queen Amidala. Behind the Queen's eyes he could see his own Padme hiding, coiled up like a cat, and he stood straighter, smiling just a little hopefully towards the men and women he knew held titles and lands on this foreign world. They returned him their curiosity, their faith and uncertainty in the Queen. Light came thought the high windows, wave upon wave, and Anakin gasped for air as he took the large quill in his hand, searching his memory and drawing the shapes that formed his name. Padme executed her full name in a series of strokes, meeting his gaze with one that said she was done being afraid. 

"Congratulations, your Majesty," said Lord Bibble, his white-mustache mouth moving as though he didn't quite know what to say. There was a hand on Anakin's shoulder, hand and old; 

"I'm sure that our Queen will do what is best for young Skywalker," Palpatine patted Anakin's back, something in his voice making the hair on the back of the boy's neck rise. "He has a promising future." 

Looking up, Anakin thought he saw red flowers resting in the hands of everyone present; blood red blossoms with black irises that watched him with the disapproving eyes of a Jedi. 


	2. The Elderly Child

"It's my life // I'll walk on // Using my own strength to go forward along this endless road."

-"In This Distant Town", Card Captor Sakura. 

======================== 

Artificial Wings 2a/? 

by Meredith Bronwen Mallory 

mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com 

http://www.demando.net/ 

======================== 

The Naboo needed Padme. Anakin could see it in the faces of the crowd as they gathered to hear her words; he heard it whispered in the hallways and on the pavilion and in the courtyard. She is our savior, the whispers said, fear putting a little vibrato into each voice. He learned the best places from which to watch her address the people, liked to watch the sun on her painted face and try to see Padme underneath. Often, he imagined she was not in that body at all, but that Amidala was entirely different, something she wore. There was a story about that somewhere-- the woman in the ivory tower who ruled through another body, her true self far too beautiful for mortals to see her and live. That was a fairy tale, but Padme was real. 

It would be still another week until Padme could safely shed her robes and take him to her parents home; she needed to stay and calm the people, get the rebuilding started, heal the soul of her precious Theed, and so Anakin waited. His waiting encased him, until he feared speaking above a whisper, or asking one of the Handmaidens for something he could not readily get for himself. He remembered standing n the Jedi Temple, so sure that he had come home, only to be turned away. Promises where made to be broken.Treading lightly, he feared not Padme, but those around her. They looked at him with curious eyes and sharp little thoughts; he could hear the whispers. "What is that child to her?' He took to hiding in the vast library, where he'd managed to find a few books in Huttese, the only written language he could read. When those were gone, he took to painstakingly replicating the Basic characters for his name, as Padme had shown him. Always, he watched when the fluttering of the hand-maids signaled that the Queen would speak; always, he was grateful that she took a meal with him. Inside, however, his frustration grew-- he was between parenthesis, with his old life dead and his new life not begun, which left him with no life at all. He was a ghost-- he thought while shivering in the wide soft bed and curling around his mother's memory-- and perhaps if Padme stopped believing in him, he would fade all together. 

The guards did not move when he padded barefoot down the hall, tugging at the sleeping robes that were far too large for his undernourished body. He looked at each pair of eyes through the uniform visors, before he knelt in front of the door to Padme's chambers and pressed his cheek against the cold marble floor. When she carried him back to his room in the white-touched morning hours, he laid still in her soft arms, wanting only her silent company. 

He couldn't stop dreaming about the flowers on Padme's burial pyre. 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

Holding the data pad in the shadows so the sun's glare would not distort the picture, Anakin looked from the flower to the screen, and back again. Narrowed blue eyes regarded the plant curiously, before his small fingers fumbled to change the screen. Another image shimmered into the display, this one a twin match to the real bloom just a few inches away. Now smiling, he set the small computer down with care and hauled his body up onto the stone bench, standing on his knees to peer down through the petals of the blood. 

"I wouldn't do that," cold fingers curled around his wrist, quick and snake like, biting there. Crying out, Anakin tilted backwards, shuddering with relief when he felt support from the stranger's other arm. 

She was colorless and gray in the afternoon sun, with brown eyes that could not be that color, such an affront were they to the warm hue of Padme's. 

"You're hurting me," he managed honestly. 

"Oh," her fingers uncurled swiftly, claws coming to rest on the swell of her breasts within her dark silk eyes, "I didn't mean to." She snatched scarf out from the folds of her dress, studying each of the red, bleeding half moons in Anakin's flesh before binding the wound with the swatch of cloth. "I should think I've made a very bad first impression." 

"No, no," Anakin bit his lip, staring openly at the waterfall of gray locks surrounding the woman, before he vaguely realized he was sitting on her hair. Scrambling to his feet, he stood before her in apologetic uncertainty. 

"Well," she climbed to her feet, gathering about her the air that she was just missing *something*. "I suppose we're even then," her smile was just a show of teeth, pointed pearls, and though her eyes glittered with malice, she was so like a child that Anakin could no more be afraid of her than he could be afraid of someone his own age. Her attention flickered briefly to the flower, "That's poisonous, my boy. It says so on the screen you pulled up-- don't you know better?" 

"I can't read Basic, Ma'am," Anakin swallowed the murmur, "I was just trying to match plants with the pictures." 

"You're Her Highness' ward, are you not?" she turned, hair alive without the wind, with tangles that looked like thorns. "I should hope she plans to rectify that problem?" 

"She will," Anakin said defensively, "she has to take care of the city before she can take care of me." 

"Ahhh..." laughter, quick and hollow-- she narrowed her eyes looked over her shoulder, beckoning Anakin to follow, "but you wish it wasn't that way." 

A pause, open mouthed. "I'm Anakin Skywalker," he bowed as he had seen Qui-Gon do, glad to find something to say, "It's nice to meet you." 

The woman laughed, raising a talon-like hand to cover her mouth, "I'm Satsuki Palpatine," she moved her free hand in the air, holding it out limply. Not knowing what else to do, Anakin took it and squeezed it briefly in his smaller grasp. Satsuki's smile was amused. "And I am also pleased to meet you." 

"Palpatine..." Anakin began. 

"I'm his wife, yes," another giggle, "why are people always so surprised?" 

"I dunno, Ma'am," he looked at his feet, suddenly remembering the chill of Palpatine's hand on his back. 

"Oh, please," Satsuki tipped his chin up with the point of a single sharp translucent nail. "You must call me Satsuki. Everyone does. Titles are so silly, don't you think?" 

Padme's smiling face, devoid of make-up and ceremony. 

"Yes," Anakin replied earnestly. 

"Good," the old woman's smile was thin, and Anakin did not know how he knew she was old-- her face was unmarred. "Come along, why don't you? I think I'll recruit you to keep me company by the pond. There's sweets in it for you." 

Very soft, but also glad to be of some use; "Alright." 

"How old are you, my boy?" Satsuki asked as she sat by the stone ledge surrounding the pool. Her posture was more of a 'plop'-- petticoats and satins skirts about her haphazardly. It wasn't like Padme's disarming kindness; this woman was still a child because she was not sane, only particles of her soul seemed to penetrate the hidden veil around her. Anakin shivered with out thinking, looking away and holding his hands very gently at the surface of the water, marveling. 

"I'm nine, Ma--" he saw a glitter in the reflection of her rancid brown eyes, "Satsuki." 

"Well, you'll be an adult in just five years, then," she twirled an iron gray curl absently, "What will you do, when it is time to leave the care of our most gracious Queen?" 

The cords in Anakin's throat froze; the air his lungs seemed to be tears he would drown in. Abandoned. (He is too old to be trained he is too afraid he is--) 

"I'm not sure," he took a deep breath, "I hadn't thought about it." 

"Our Queen is gracious, is she not?" Satsuki asked, seemingly changing the subject. 

"And kind," he added. 

"And beautiful," Satsuki's smiles were all so odd-- viper like. "She owes her life to you, for flying against the Federation ship." 

"I just--" 

"But don't think it won't happen again." 

"What?" he swallowed hard, hands fisting in the soft grass as he pushed himself away. 

"Think about it," Satsuki's voice was innocent and dreamy, "The universe does not care for kind people, Anakin, let me tell you that." Quite suddenly, "Your mother was kind, yes, no?" 

"Yes," he replied, startled. Emotions played across Satsuki's face like lightning. 

"What happened to her?" 

"Nothing!" Anakin said harshly, "She's still at home... she's still a..." 

"A slave?" Satsuki hands were indeed talons, curling around his own. "That's what happens to people like Her." Just a violently, Satsuki dropped his hands and turned away, leaving Anakin to stare through the water and wavering of tears in his eyes. 

He watched the ivory-touched pink flowers floating on the fluid surface, no seeing them at all. He floated just as helplessly, looking for something to hold onto, some grand design. He could not be a Jedi. 

"But you still have power," Satsuki murmured, as though he'd spoken aloud, "What good is power if you don't use it to protect the ones you love? They're afraid of your power, you know. They're afraid that you can love. Jedi aren't allowed to reveal in either." 

"How do you---" 

"Can you keep a secret?" she clapped her hands as though she had just found a marvelous game, "My husband could have been a Jedi. You must tell no one this, for it makes people afraid. He could teach you, though, how to use your power." 

"Obiwan showed me a few things," Anakin said, feeling suddenly listless. 

"I'm sure he did," such a motherly tone in Satsuki seemed out of place, and Anakin looked up to see she had lifted her face to the sky. "We're over here, Lord Husband!" 

Movement in between the leaves, like the stirring of a wolf, and Anakin suddenly felt sight anticipation. Wait for it... wait for it... 

"Ah, there you are, Countessa Palpatine," the senator's face seemed to harden with his smile, "I should have checked here first. I know you like it so." A sudden shift of the breeze brought Anakin relief, and then Palpatine's gaze. "And young Skywalker-- I have wanted to speak to you--" 

"I already told him," Satsuki caroled. Anakin's spine stiffened as he watched Palpatine's teeth bite down on the interrupted sentence. 

There was a smile, but not in Palpatine's voice, "The Countessa is always one step ahead of me. What do you say, young Skywalker? I hate to see such talent go to waste." 

"I..." Anakin curled his fists and rested on them, unable to divine the nature of these two adults in relation to himself. Staring into the water, he drew on the calm Obiwan had shown him the path too, glad to welcome the ethereal cool of the Force. 

A drop of water, just one, disturbing the surface of the pond, and Anakin's eyes raced to the wound without thinking. He watched, blue eyes wide, as the rings spread outward, as if giving birth to something. A globe, glass and just like a bubble floating on the water where it had not been moments before. It swirled with colors you can only capture in water-- a purple that was green, a red tainted with blue, a yellow rimmed by brown that was not ugly. And inside... 

Padme, in perfect miniature, delicate and powerful, cradled in the curve of the globe. He saw that she was sleeping with wonderful dreams, and the sight of her made Anakin's heart hurt and long to stop. Love is a stupid word, and nine year olds do not love as men do-- but love was the nearest thing, and this child's love would never change. He reached for the globe, suddenly sure that he had been turned from the Jedi for a reason, that the Queen was good and loved and needed. Cupping the glass between two tender hands, he pulled it towards his heart, horrified when the surface vanished like a bubble risen too high. Padme shattered into petals, countless, shifting on the water. 

"Did you see that?" Anakin asked, grasping fruitlessly at the small, blue petals. 

"I assure you I have quite no idea what you mean," Satsuki smothered a sound to her mouth and rolling in the grass with it. 

"Jedi-- or should I say, Force sensitives," Palpatine's hand rested heavy as a gargoyle on Anakin's shoulder, "are somewhat given to visions, my boy. Use the fear they cause to keep them away." 

"So many things can hurt people, Anakin," Satsuki lay still in the grass with her hair like a web around her, dull eyes reflecting the sky because she was empty of everything else. "Age and death and pain and..." she hissed through her teeth, "the plots of others." 

"Countessa," Palpatine said warningly. 

"None of those things are going to get to Padme," the young boy said determinedly. He rose, relieved when Palpatine's hand fell away, and hurried back to the main garden, where Sabe might arrive with news of supper with Padme. Over his shoulder, he tossed the words, "Thank you, Sir. Ma-- Satsuki." 

Palpatine waved his hand to dismiss the appreciation, "Don't mention it, my boy." And Anakin rounded the bend, seeing a flash of Palpatine kneeling by Satsuki's side, and the old child saying "do come to collect your sweets sometime." 

++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

China settling on china, smiles exchanged over fire light and food. They ate on the expanse of Anakin's bed, sitting cross legged and exchanging stories that seemed to nourish them more than the food. 

"Watch, Padme," Anakin intoned, gesturing to a small bowl of berries with the colors of a bleeding sunset. She smiled her encouragement, and the smile became an astonished laugh as the berries rose towards her. 

"Anakin..." it was breathless, "Did Obiwan show you how to do that?" 

"Yup." A berry rose higher, and Padme opened her mouth, delicately taking it between her lips. "Padme, do you think I could go into the army?" 

Padme's face stilled, "Why?" 

"I want to be a pilot," he answered earnestly. 

"You could do that other ways," she insisted, dabbing the juice from her mouth. 

"Yes," he said, holding a dream that was his own close; his own eyes behind the uniform visor, outside the Queen's door, "But if I'm in the army, I can help protect you." 

"And what if I don't think I need protecting?" Padme teased, sadness blooming behind her black-moon eyes. 

Anakin moved towards her, wrapping his small arms around her hips and resting his head in her lap. The question was quiet and without an answer-- for his intense affection had always startled her. 

"Why do you think I wasn't allowed to join the Jedi? You said there was a reason." 


End file.
